Red Queen
by ms.j
Summary: ﻿Angel Proctor and Ira Billings?–an unusual combination.[After a month of college Hades, I managed to finish.] A sequel to the Queen of Hearts.
1. Will Ms J Please Shut Up?

The Red Queen

(A Sequel)

Summary: Angel Proctor and Ira Billings?–an unusual combination

Author's note: Sequels are always cheesy.

I hope to deliver.

I would go on my soap box and say something profound but . . . who cares?

It's just some story I cooked up over Spring Break.

Also, I must credit KNIGHTVISION, a most helpful BB site. Smiles.

You guys know I don't owe BB, only the lovely Angel Proctor.

Enjoy.

(and so it begins)


	2. Folded Hand

"Max, I think we need to talk."

"About what? Last week?"

"Yeah . . . Sort of."

"Sure, if you think it'll help. What's on your mind?'

Terry McGinnis' hands rested on Maxine Gibson's arms as if to embrace, their eyes met.

He found himself being lured into those deep brown eyes that reminded him of hot chocolate, hping to take one sip. He took a breath.

"Max, I-"

Matt picked to most inopportune time to walk into the room, "forgetting" to knock.

"Hey, is Max up? Mom's cooking and she told me-."

"Matt!" Terry dropped Max's arms as if they were hot coals.

"What are you two doing?" Matt looked between his older brother and Terry's friend.He was getting curious. . . he saw Terry's hands on Max's arms.

"What the heck do you want?" Terry asked sharply.

"Mom says dinner will be ready soon!" Matt held his arms up in a laizze-faire gesture.

"Leave." Terry pointed at his bedroom door.

"Why?" The younger boy taunted, hands on hips.

"I'm warning you, Matt." His older brother growled.

"I'm warming you." Matt repeated in a mocking tone.

"Terry, don't be mean to your brother." Max spoke, shaking herself from as if in she were in a haze. She watched him grab something off of his bed. Matt knew better then to push him so he calmly left the room.

"Get out!" The older boy demanded.

"Terry!' Max cried out in the younger boy's defense. They heard the door open one last time.

Matt said, poking his head one last time before leaving, "Max didn't say I had to." Then Matt stuck his tongue out to give Terry a sound rasberry. Suddenly a pillow went flying across the room at the door. Matt was smart enough to shut it in time to deflect the coming blow.

Terry shook his fist, "Little brat."

"We should go help with dinner." Max said, gently placing a hand on his arm after she walked up to him. Then as if she reminded herself of something, she let go and walked out of the room, gently closing the door behind her.

The conversation had folded between them.

* * *

What could he had possibly wanted to tell her? 

Max picked at her meatloaf for a moment before having a thoughtful bite.

She examined the members of the table: Mrs. McGinnis chatting excitedly about her day at work (_Happy to have Terry finally at home for once, for dinner no less)._ Next was 10-yr-old Matt playing war games with the meat and peas (_Another Terry_, she mused). Lastly, the Dark Knight himself playing with the mashed potatoes absent-mindedly (_What's bothering him?)._ For a girl whose family wasn't around much, she lavished in these moments. Yes, even in the more dysfunctional ones.

Terry cleared his thorat, "I broke up with Dana."

A choking sound from Max's end of the table forced Mrs. McGinnis to slap her on the back three good times. Terry walked to her side of the table, handing her water. Matt came to aid for a moment with a napkin, abandoning his game. Max managed to tastefully spit up whatever it was into a napkin.

(Stupid meatloaf, she thought after a big chunk had lodged itself in her throat.)

Once Max started breathing again and eating, Terry resumed telling the details about the break up.

"I hope she handled it well. . . Well, as well as you can a break-up."

"I just told her we needed space. Time away from each other."

"Dana is a lovely girl. Why ever so?" His mother continued.

"It's . . ." How could he explain this to his mother? "Things were getting to be too stressful with the job and all."

"She seemed so nice. Have you tried to work things out?"

"We have two totally different lives and we're two totally different people."

"Well, Terry, I'm so sorry to hear that. But don't let this after-school job affect you being a teenager. Enjoy your youth."

Matt leaped out of his chair with satisfaction before his mother lauched into a lecture on life.

(He was at that age where girls still carried the plague.)

"Cool! No more prissy girls to deal with! Yes!"

"Matthew!" His mother scolded.

"Then you can get a shway girlfriend like Max!" Matt annoucned brightly.

The ringing of the vid-phone saved the dark-skinned female some face, "I'll get it for you, Mrs. McGinnis!"

When Max left the rooom, Terry gave his little brother a look that seemed to say sleep with one eye open tonight. Dinner resume without until the girl came back into the room fifteen minutes later.

Her face was sober with the news: Maxine's parents were already in town and waiting for her at the apartment.


	3. ﻿The Best Ship to Be On: Friendship

Max turned the lights on in the apartment, expecting them to be on. But the only living thing there was a calico. Isis promptly ran to her, _mrowing_ her greetings.

"Isis!" The cat purred happily, "Mommy's sorry. I had to stay at Terry's for a while to be safe. Did the neighbors feed you well? Is my baby alright?"

Isis' _meow_ was taken as an affirmative.

"Yesss, Mama's baby." She cooed lovingly to the mixed-colored ball of fur.

A note on the coffee table caught her attention:

**Maxine, we went to grab dinner. We want to spend a few more days with you. Love: Mom and Dad.**

**P.S. Your loving sister will be joining us too.**

"This is new." Max said to herself, examining the paper. She tossed onto the counter.

"And it only took my life almost ending to get them all here together."

Isis followed her to the bedroom, simply happy her mistress was finally home again.

* * *

That night, Max joined the Gibson family. Her mother Lena, father Stanley, and delinquent college-aged sister Charlene actually took her out to have Chinese. It was unusual spreading time with blood relations when the McGinnis family and her friends were more of a family. 

For the next week, Max had to reincorporate into a family unit that really wasn't a unit.She knew her parents would return to their separate lives. Since the Angel Proctor incident, she could see her family trying to make an effort to comfort her. But Max knew that business and bad blood would pull her parents away and school would keep Charlene busy. After going back to the apartment with Charlene, the two girls chattered for awhile before a relutant Charlene left to go the the hotel with her parents. (_I just worry about now, little sis_, she told Max before giving a quick tight hug.)

"You're my only friend." She cooed to the calico with jeweld-colored eyes while.

"Mrow." Isis purred her 'thank you' to her mistress.

A picture caught her eyes on the nightstand. It was of her and Terry in the sixth grade at the pool.

He was a throw back of Matt at that time, her hair was still dark brown and long until her high school makeover.

Her fingers ran lovingly over the frame.

When did things change? When did her feelings change?

"Oh yeah, Terry," she said to the picture. "We are definitely not kids anymore."

* * *

The Dark Knight wiped the sleep from his eyes, winding down another night of crime and dramatics on the rooftop of the Gotham Downtown Bank. His mind mulled over one key issue: What interest did his best friend have in him anyways? 

Terry thought better of it–why torture yourself when friendship is the best thing? He decided to keep his feelings to himself.

He managed to convinced himself that his attraction to the dark-skinned lady with pink locks was just passing hormonal interest. A device of being on the rebound from his now ex, a fantasy with no depth.

'_She's just my friend. Why ruin that_?' was the conclusion he came to in the middle of the week.

An mocking voice in the back of his head spoke:

'_Or you just don't have the guts to tell her, dreg_.'

Him, Batman, afraid to admit his feelings to a girl?

Naw.

He was simply . . . . preserving the friendship.

'_That's a lie, McGinnis, you're looking for any excuse to avoid it_.'

"I don't like her." He hissed at the reflection in a glass window, furious trying to convince himself.

'_And the sky ain't blue_.' It seemed to answer back.


	4. It Had to Be You

"Hey, Luv Doctor!" An inmate yelled in Cell 48 yelled to the passing red-head. "Show me a little love!"

Angel Proctor bared her teeth, she hated "walking the line" back to her cell.

Six months since being arrested, she still haven't adopted to life behind bars or given up her anger at the "Pinky." Once inside the cell, she sat with her back against the padded wall. Angel reflected on her life: The condo was seized, the SUV ended in the protection of the police, her accounts were frozen. Lisa and Kelli copped a plea bargain to do half their time and sold her out. The only thing that saved her was she knew how to beat the court at its own game. . . play crazy! Not one of her most brillant moments, but she knew the Blackgate Prison was rough.

Many years awaited her in the updated New Arkham Asylum.

Alone. Angel Proctor sighed, 'G_reat decision there_.'

It all seemed to have ended here, in a padded cell. Angel wondered why she got into so deep as she did. Robbing the upper-crust elites a few times should have been enough. But, things got out of control. She'll admit, she got greedy. Then the Pinky just made her plans spiral more. Simply put, she loss control. She continued to sigh heavily.

A male voice shook her from self-loathing, "October is the cruelest month, is it not?"

"I thought it was April."

The voice from the other side laughed, "Don't take the failure to heart. Isn't that why were all here?"

Angel Proctor laughed then looked around to find its source.

"Where are you?"

"Behind you, other side of the wall. The sound travels well in the air vents."

"What are you in for?" She asked the voice. If it was in head, she wouldn't have to work so hard to prove her lack of sanity.

"Grand theft. Endangering the public. Yourself?"

"The same. Except I have kidnaping and attempted murder tacked on."

"Ah." The voice answered.

"I guess I got too greedy."

They shared another laugh.

The voice continued, "Madam, we all got too greedy."

"And you are?"She asked, wondering whom the soothing barbitone belonged to.

The voice cleared his throat, "Dr. Ira Billings, former high school counselor."

She answered, "Dr. Angel Proctor, former on-air personality."

"A pleasure." Dr. Bilings responded.

A quiet moment fell between them in the vents. Angel restarted the conversation again.

"Tell me something, how did you avoid Blackgate Prison?"

"I plead insanity."

"A psychiatrist who pleads insanity?" She asked in faux shock.

"They say Harley Quinn managed."

Angel Proctor smiled to herself, maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

The two head docotors/criminals continued to converse through the night.


	5. Wanted: One Nut

Ira Billings' secret grin looked like it belong to a man in love.

The tall, dark-haired former psychologist paced in his padded cell happily.

His package came today.

Angel Proctor's conversations with the man on the other side of the wall were pleasant ways to pass the time. It was nice to talk to someone so much like her. In two months' time, the two Ph.Ds had talked psychology, family histories, crime and daily issues with the ease of lovers.

For today though, he didn't say much to her. She was strangely quiet this time of day.

"We'll talk again." The psychiatrist said to the walls, then sat down on the bed.

"I wouldn't let you down, my dear."

A light buzzed in his cell. The daily rounds of medicines were coming around.

An orderly carrying a plastic serving tray with a prescription bottle and a paper cup with water stepped into the cell. A second orderly stood on guard at the door, closing it behind him.

"Your medicine, Mr. Billings." The first orderly announced.

He opened the bottle. The opaque container was full to the top with round pink pills.

The first orderly took the water and dropped a pill inside of it, watching it sizzle then turn clear in seconds.

"Thank you." Ira Billings spoke, his back to the oldery.

A flash of light began to radiate in the room, Bilings continued. "For allowing me this chance to get away."

"What the-?" The orderly cried, backing up. The second orderly ran into the room, sensing trouble.

Only a flash of light coming from the room made the situation seem any different.

* * *

Angel Proctor prided herself on not needing drugs in the crazy hospital. 

Unlike the rest of the nut jobs here, she maintained her sanity without the aid of a pharmaceutical company. The only time she used anything (sleeping pills) was when she spent two sleepless weeks plotting against The Pink One if she ever got out of this nut house. Most of the time, they went under her bed or in the toliet.

When the orderly came around to give her medication, she did not hide her hurt feelings. The orderly announced himself at the door. "Medications."

"Drugs are for the other nuts. You got the wrong room."

A familar voice answered, "Oh no, I'm pretty sure I have the right room, Dr. Proctor."

"Is this a joke? The head psychologist says I don't need any more sleeping pills. I think I would know too. I _used_ to be one."

She emphasized, she was still a psychologist in her mind despite losing her licence to practice.

The voice on the other side of the door answered, "Would you really know–Angel?"

Suddenly shot the lock off her cell door with a blaster. Angel dove behind her bed when the blast went off with a scream. The red head shook her head, face written in shook and awe. A large gapping hole now took the place of the cell door, Ira stepped over the rumble into the room. Angel finally looked up to face whoever stood in the doorway after it was blown off the hinges. A tall dark-haired man wearing the hospital-issued pajamas stood inside of the now opened reenforced steel door. He looked unshaken.

"What the heck?" Angel crawled toward the wall.

"So we meet." The figure smiled.

Her green eyes narrowed, his voice jogged her memory.

"Ira? Dr. Ira Billings from the other side of the wall?"

He smiled, confirming her suspensions, "I told you someday you would see me sooner than later. And I have delivered."

"What are doing out your cell? The guards will thrown you into a worst cell in a heartbeat!"

"I decided that we should have our conversations in more. . . comfortable surroundings." Ira spoke, reaching behind his back.

"This can't be happening. . . " She shook her head.

He held a needle in his hand: "Dearest Angel, the world is full of illusions."

* * *

Angel woke up in the back of something moving. Something moving very to, she realized after a long moment that she was in a car traveling in the middle of the night. 

"Morning love." A male voice told her.

"Huh?" Feeling foggy, the red head sat up suddenly. Someone in a wild red and black costume was driving the car. The woman let out a startling scream.

The figure looked over then removed his mask in a quick swipe. Angel screamed again, it was the same tall dark-haired individual. The same Dr. Bilings.

"I feared you would go into hysterics, given your innate fear of strangers and strange places that your parents instilled into you. So I just had to help you sleep."

Angel ran her hands up and down the length of both arms wildly until she felt a Band-Aid.

"You sedated me!" She demanded to know why, her mind still in a haze fog.

"Every good psychologist knows-" Dr. Bilings stated, leaving the mask off for now.

"You're sick!" Dr. Proctor cried. She backed up against the car window in fear, searching for the locks in vain, shaking the door.

Ira Billings smiled an easy smile to the lady cowering next to him, "Dr. Proctor, we only treat the sick. We're ourselves are not the sick."

"This is crazy!" She dove for the wheel but Ira restrained her with his free arm.

"A funny way of putting it."

"Let me out!" She beat her fists against him.

"Why?"

"Why?" She asked astonished, "You drugged me, kidnaped me and done only God knows what else to me!"

"I just gave you your freedom and a fresh start to do something _new_. Angel, we're free to follow our own devices. To pick up where we left off. I'm sure you have a Pinky to deal with."

The ghostly smile on Ira's face threw an mute fear into Angel.

She pieced together the events–they had escaped New Arkham Asylum. Somehow. He he wanted her to come with him. Correction, he kidnapped _her._

"You should drink something, dear. You're very pale." Ira insisted.

Next to the water bottle in the backseat was a prescription bottle fulls of pink pills that were instantly recognizable.


	6. Love in a Spell

Terry started yelling when the words came from Bruce Wayne's mouth about their newest problem.

"Spellbinder and the Love Doctor? On the run? Together? Come on!"

Ace lifted his head and barked at the young master. Wayne pulled up the news transmission from Commissioner Barbara Gordon to the Gotham P.D., "I've been listening to the reports on the scanner all morning. It came a few hours ago."

Terry felt his jaw work out of place, "Why would they escape with each other?"

Wayne rubbed the bottom of his chin thoughtfully, Ace came to his heels.

"Well, they're both psychologists and thieves using inanimate objects for mind control. Why they escaped together isn't apparent."

Terry rolled his eyes, "Now they can talk about their feelings with each other and steal all over coffee. I say that's the makings of a healthy relationship."

The former Bat ignored the sarcasm, "We don't know if one could be controlling the other."

"Unless they're in it together." Terry suggested.

"I need you to help me find clues to their whereabouts, maybe even a motive."

Terry's "joy" at the thought of investigaing this latest capper found its way into his tone, "Criminals: where would we be without them?"

"You wouldn't have the job security." Bruce tossed the comment over his shoulder, furiously typing in information about the wayward doctors then added to Terry: "Oh, and get a hold of Maxine."

"Max?" Hearing her name touched a soft side within Terry. He paused.

"I fear that Angel Proctor is nursing revenge against, as she so lovingly calls hers, 'Pinky.'"

Terry grabbed his suit and starting changing.

* * *

Looking at the picture of herself and Charlene (ages six and twelve) made Maxine think. Charlene's favorite phrase, 'annoying little sister,' seemed to leap out of the frame at her as she looked at them both covered in mud from the mud puddles in the nearby park. (Tanned backsides from Mama prevented another episode of this from occurring.) 

"Maybe that's why I feel so bad for Matt." She said to the calico cat at her feet. Max was dictating to her laptop what to "say" in her research paper to the research advisor at the Gotham General.

The cat only kept beating its tail against the comforter in the bed they both lougued in. The former Hamilton High graduate then saw the picture of herself, Terry McGinnis, Dana Tan, Blade Summer, Chelsea Cunningham, and even Nelson Nash in their caps and gowns together.

"Maybe if I annoy them to death, I can get in ne?"

Isis only blinked at her masked bitter mocking.

What others called annoyance, Maxine Gibson called persistence.

She knew she wasn't always sunshine, but she thought she gave everything her best: School. Dancing. Hacking. Gaming. The valedictorian label wasn't something she took lightly. She fought and lived hard to get everything she deserved.

And yes, life was hard.

Hard work took her family away from her yet hard work was giving her every advantage: The chance to do cutting edge biomedical research at Gotham General while taking a year off from medical school, working part time at the TeenRec, volunteering off and on for the animal rights lover Selina Kyle at the Bio-Park.

(Mr. Wayne sneered at the very thought of this and made her wear a wire every time she went. Safety reasons he cited.)

The clock read one am when she was half way through her research paper. She started yawning like Isis.

'_Maybe wanting the best is an annoyance. Maybe waiting stability is an annoyance_.'

But, as in all things, Maxine Gibson persisted.

* * *

The opened bedroom window looked inviting until the weight of someone slammed into him. 

"What the-!" The figured cried.

A very tense black woman with pink locks stepped out of the shadows.With quick reflexes, he entered into a fighting stance when he saw Maxine Gibson armed with the broom handle.

"Do you ever sweep with that thing?" The figured demanded.

"Terry!" She scolded hitting the lights, "It's three am! What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, it's me. Who the heck else?" Terry insisted.

She threw the broom down, "Don't you ever knock?"

"Maybe now I'll consider it." He stepped back, hands up in a surrender gesture, "It'll be healthy for you to have our routine reestablished–you know, I fight crime, you study, you help me get caught up on books. I eat the food in the house. "

"I hope you're happy. I was having a nice dream." A hand on the hip signaled her displeasure.

"Was I in it?" Terry asked jokily, hoping to get her to smile.

A pillow found his cowl-covered face.

"Wow, that actually kinda hurt." Terry caught the flying object in his hands. The signs of verbal sparring put a smile on Terry's face beneath his mask. 'Good to see the old Max.'

"Knock next time, Bats, or I'll use the bat."

"How was your night?" He asked, eyebrows raised.

"Lovely . . .until you came."

"Ouch, Miss Gibson, you wound me." Terry chided, removing the cowl due to the warmth of the room.

'_When did she get all weirded out on me? She knew I was coming this way_.'

"Anything in the fridge?" He asked with caution.

"Leftovers. Unless I cook." The young woman snapped, disappearing.

The Bat wasn't sure whether to give her a lesson in Butt Kicking 101 or cower at the sight of brooms. When the door opened again, he was back into fight mode.

"By the way, Terr." Maxine said, throwing a towel at him. "You reek."

* * *

He wanted to be upfront about what was going on and simply spat it out, "Angel Proctor escaped and Spellbinder's with her." 

The knife sunk into the cutting board with a force that the crime fighter did not know she possessed. Max hung her head over the cutting board, the late dinner/early breakfast forgotten. Terry took the liberty of cleaning up (and hoping to be fed if Max wasn't ready to kill him first.) What Terry couldn't see was she face twisting up into a mixture of anger, shock, and dread.

He found himself getting worried when she didn't answer right away, "Max?"

She took a deep breath in then exhaled slowly, "So I guess I'm going into hiding? Another undercover watching the door?" Her voice was even.

"Wayne thinks so. It might be a good idea for a few days-"

"No offense, Terr, but I already spent more than a week at your house."

"This could be serious. Besides, you don't even have to stay there-"

"Do you expect me to run everytime the Boggey Man's around?"

Max finally turned around, knife still standing up in the cutting board, "I don't feel like being uprooted for another week or day or whatever!"

She walked passed Batman in a huff, going toward her bedroom.

Terry shook his head, yelling after her, "You're life's could be in danger and you're worried about staying somewhere for a week? This will be the first place Proctor will come to. God only knows how Spellbinder fits into the equation."

"I'll rather stand my own ground." Max said, slamming the door.

He muttered a few unkind words under his breath, walking toward the room.When he opened the door, he was met with a large baseball bat resting on the girl's shoulder.

"And how do you plan to protect yourself? With that?"

"I once heard someone say 'I don't know karate, but I know crazy.'"

"Funny." He rolled his eyes.

"I've been in a martial arts class for three months now, thank you."

"Well, then I feel so much better leaving you at the hands of the criminal element."

"A Louisville slugger doesn't hurt to have either."

"Why are you being like this? I'm concerned about you." Terry huffed.

"I'm tired of running!" She screamed suddenly, forcing Terry to take a step back, "I'm always the Damsel in Distress act and I'm sick of it. I'm tired of you, Wayne, and everyone else thinking I'm so helpless. Isis and I get along fine, no one else seems to care."

"No one cares? Who said anyone thinks you're helpless!"

"Then why don't you show it and let me be." She tried to walk pass him, not wanting to have this conversation.

He grabbed her arm, "These people are friggin' pyschos, Maxine!"

"I don't need protection." She jerked her arm away from him, emphasizing her point that she just wanted to be left alone.

He pulled her back by both of her arms, "That's what Batman's for."

Inches away from his face, the young woman hissed at him. Her eyes bright with anger. "Batman won't be around forever, Terrence."

Terry let her go. The statement cut into the tense air, he looked away suddenly. Now a host of emotion danced on his face.

Max wasn't sure if she had made him upset or sad but he didn't speak to her for a full minute.

A feeling defeat settled over Terry, he whispered, "That's what I'm afraid."

Seeing his back to her struck a cord in his heart. He started to walk off.

'_Good job, Gibson, you did it now_.'

"Terry." She called but he took his cowl and headed toward the bedroom window.

Max called after him, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that!"

A withering glaze silenced her. His cold eyes seem to have froze into indifference, "I'll make it a point not to be around."

The Dark Knight vanished into the night, leaving her crying after him in the dark night.


	7. Dream A Little Dream

_Bubbles floating above his head were the only evidence that he was still living._

_The young man felt himself hit the cold water with a massive impact. __He began sinking, the clothes ballooning around him. He told himself to stop struggling._

_His very bones seemed to ache from the fall. His eyes opened to the clear blue sea surrounding him._

_Light cut through the ocean, images dancing in a haze all around. He had to start moving or he'll die. . . . Then something like a tail came to his view._

_The white dress danced in the translucent waters with an elegance only matched by its owner. __If breathing wasn't such an issue, he would have remained transfixed there, memorized by the floating fabric flowing with the current effortlessly._

_He started swimming toward it._

_A slender silhouette confirmed his suspension that only a woman could be wearing it._

_The floating fabric belonged to an aquatic beauty, a lovely creature moving with a mermaid's grace. __She was swimming peaceful away while he fought to get to the surface._

_He keep moving faster and faster until he came closer to her face._

_She caught sight of him._

_For the moment, she allowed herself to be suspended in the medium, her hair moving as a wave around her. He opened his mouth to make noise but nothing came out. __Only a host of bubbles followed where words would have followed._

_She stopped._

_She swam closer to him._

_He felt her take his face into her face, she leaned in closer to him. Suddenly, he grabbed her by the waist._

_He needed something real, something stable, something tangible to grasp onto in a place that was constantly moving. She allowed him to hold onto her, her legs and dress wrapped around him. His heart was beating out of his chest but no sound could be permitted in the medium. None for heart beats, none for conversation._

_She leaned in closer until their noses were touching. . . ._

* * *

"Terrence!" 

The only cold wet thing Terry felt was the sweat covering his face as he fell out of the chair. "Terrence" began pulling himself to his feet.

That was the second time in three days someone called him by his full name.

"You're sleeping on the job." Wayne scolded.

"Sorry." He mumbled, checking for drool.

Sunday was spent listening to the results of Wayne's detective work. Spellbinder managed to get a hold of his magic eye in the asylum. Using it on one of the orderlies, the first orderly knocked out the second orderly and the guard on the floor. Then Spellbinder blasted the former Love Doctor out of her room. Using the magic eye, they managed to simply just walk out of the hospital and get a car stolen for them.

Then the conversation changed, "I was asking you about Maxine-"

"She doesn't want our help." The younger Bat answered with an edge. "Being that Batman won't be around forever."

Bruce Wayne gave his apprentice a curious glance. He noticed that he had entered touchy waters with the younger man when the subject of Maxine came up.

"Is something wrong?"

"She gets all bent out of shape when I told her she should lay low for a week. Says she's tired of everyone seeing her as helpless. Then she swings a baseball bat at me!"

"Touchy." The older Bat simply remarked.

"Don't I know it?" Terry ran a hand through his hair, a nervous sign.

"Maybe she has a point." The older Bat started rubbing in chin, deep in thought.

The younger man suddenly spun around, Ace lifted his head.

"Are you siding with her?" The younger man asked in an absurd tone.

Bruce held up a hand. "Only in the sense, that she shouldn't be treated as helpless."

"Mr. Wayne, she's in danger. Two pyschos that tried to take her out before are on the run. With each other." Terry emphasized his words by pounding his fists. "Do we leave her there like bait?"

"I'll talk to her. I'm sure she won't refuse." Bruce Wayne spoke with confidence,"You just keep trying to help me piece this puzzle together tomorrow."

After Terry left to go home, Bruce Wayne shook his head. What he didn't tell his protege was that he heard the entire conversation through the suit. In his old age, Bruce may have been cripple but not blind.

He saw and noticed lots of things about the boy who had worked with him over a year.

Terry was mad.

And a man only got mad like that when something very personal was at stake.

Wayne guessed it was Terry's feelings. . . .

* * *

Therapy was for criminals and crazy people Maxine Gibson insisted when she got a secure call from Bruce Wayne. "I'm not breaking the law and I am NOT crazy." 

"I would be more at ease if you were at least seeing someone since you refusedhelp in other ways." Bruce Wayne talked to her as he would a subborn child.

"Is Terry putting you up to this?" She looked at the looming aged face of the former Bat.

"Actually, it was my idea."

"Why do you think I need therapy?"

"Well, you were kidnaped and nearly killed seven months ago, not to mention some of the other things you've been through: Carter Wilson, Xander, the previous Spellbinder addiction. Post traumatic stress disorder isn't a thing of the past."

"So you think I'm crazy for wanting to have a little backbone." She concluded.

"No, I think you're being stubborn and just don't want help." Wayne told her.

Bruce saw her fists clench and unclench several times during the conversation, 'm not going." She answered.

"Maxine, please spare me the tough girl exterior. I've seen it too many times before."

Her arms folded in defiance.

"If you insist on not sleeping at night while attacking random shadows for no reason then, please. Continue."

"How do you know I haven't been sleeping?" She turned away from the screen for a minute, whispering.

"A little birdie told me in my ear."

"Or a guy whose a little batty." She faced the screen again, "How much has Terry told you?"

Bruce Wayne wanted to mention the conversation he had with the night before, but decided against it.

"That you weren't sleeping. Besides, I see the bags under your eyes."

Max immediately looked in a mirror hanging in the living room. He was right. '_Anything with eyes can see you haven't even sleeping, idiot_.'

"And you've been very uptight and jumpy. Should I mention the ice cream in the freezer is going too?"

"You've been spying on me?" Maine asked in a shocked tone.

Wayne, not even blinking at the underlying truth of this accusation, spoke matter-of-factly.

"Let's say you've been very apt in providing unspoken details for me."

"Where's the camera, Mr. Wayne?" She shook her fist at the screen.

"Maxine, I have an appointment lined up for you with the company's resident therapist, Dr. Alana Layton. She's very helpful. Tuesday afternoon, after school of course."

"I've had my fill of therapists." She grabbed the remote from the coffee table.

"Before you turn me off, consider it. You can't live in a constant state of fear. Or shutting people out. Just because you're alone there doesn't mean you're truly alone in this matter. Depression-"

The power button found Max's index finger.

* * *

"Why did I come?" 

Max asked her in the waiting room of Dr. Alana Layton at Wayne-Powers Industries.

A nonthreatening male secretary called Max into a plush decorated office on the fifth floor done trimmed in calming blue tones, they seemed to neutralize the negative emotions in patients.

"Dr. Layton will be with you in a moment." The male secretary told her before leaving the room.

Fifteen minutes later (after playing with the chair in the office and stealing two pieces of candy from a inviting glass dish), a short woman with Asiatic features came into the room smartly dressed.

"Maxine Gibson?" Her tiny voice resonated through room, light reflected off the glass.

"Yeah?"

"I'm Dr. Alana F. Layton, resident therapist here. Normally, I work with the employees here at Wayne-Power Industries. But since you were a special case, I let Bruce Wayne talk me into it." She extended a hand.

Maxine folded her arms in displeasure. Dr. Layton kept talking taking no offense to the clear brush off.

"Mr. Wayne mentioned your reluctance of coming here." The doctor took her seat across from the young black woman.

"I'm not crazy." Max insisted.

The therapist brushed the comment off like she heard a million times before. "Yes, of course." She continued, writing notes to herself, "From what I gather in this file given to me by Mr. Wayne, you may be suffering post trauma disorder."

Max huffed and turned in her chair, gazing out the window. She didn't want to speak still.

The therapist leaned back in her chair, ready to wait it out. "Well, let's start with what's going on now in your life. . ."

"In your dreams if I'm talking . . ." She mumbled.

The therapist asked her, "So tell me about your dream."

"Excuse me?"

"What about your dreams?" Dr. Layton asked again.

"Huh?"

"You said something about dreams." The doctor pressed.

"I'll rather not talk about it." Maxine gave a harsh answer.

After two hours of careful probing, Dr. Layton got Maxine to say something about her dreams. It took all of her psychological training and copious amounts of patience to pull an answer from the younger woman. "So is there a particular dream you want to explore? Or even just mull over?"

Losing some of her hostility, Maxine began to open up. "Well if I had to. . . . there is this one dream. . . I'm in some weird sculptured garden like out of Queen Elizabeth's time wearing a white dress. I don't even know why I keep having the same dream."

* * *

Before hitting his first class of the day at Gotham U., Terry had been out prowling New Arkham Asylum for information about "Bonnie and Cylde" as Wayne labeled them (whatever that meant). 

What he learned was a retelling of how they escaped along with the arrest of a female nurse that Ira Billings sweet talked into helping him escape. (The nurse smuggled the magical eye in and gave Billings her car.)

_'Harley Quinn and Joker all over for Wayne again._' The Bat remarked mentally.

Billings also had something of Angel Proctor's with him: Her Love Potion No. 9 pink pills.

Whether Billings was on Proctor's pills or even Proctor's pills were being used on her was unclear. What was clear was finding the criminal couple and their toys.

The Bat made his way to Business Management. Bruce Wayne told him if he even considered running the company, Terry better know the business world's ins and out. The true business skills came from the man himself.

'_Now I got to learn to be Terry McGinnis businessman and Terry McGinnis Batman_.'

Terry would often joke with his mentor: "_Why don't you teach me how to be Terry McGinnis, ladies man_."

This often earned him a laugh followed by the "women are humans, not lands to be conquer" speech.

'_Why not teach me your suave skills_?' Terry would often counter with.

'_Terry, look at where my suave skills have gotten me_.'

'_But women still throw themselves at you, even at the verge of 80_.'

'_Keep asking that question and you'll learn the hard way_.'

"The hard way, what does that mean?" He asked himself, finding a desk in the 500-plus seat lecture hall. Did it mean the lessons he got from Dana? Melanie?

The only thing he needed to be schooled on was time management–and even that began to feel like a cake walk. He listened to his professor begin class while pondering the latest caper.


	8. Smoke and Mirrors

Angel Proctor woke up in a strange studio apartment on soft bedding. After the blinding headache subsided for a moment, she caught sight of the reason she had it.

"YOU!" She cried suddenly.

Eyeing Ira Billings in street clothes making toast and eggs, Angel pulled herself into a sitting position, kicking the blanket off from around her. Her state issued clothing was replaced with a silky Japanese kimono and nightgown beneath. Even her hair was washed and combed, the straightness back after she let it go wild behind bars. Ira turned around, a hint of a smile dancing on his pale features.

"Did you sleep well, love?" He turned the heat off on the stove to walk over to her.

She was in a fighting stance on the futon. "Back off, freak."

"Angel." He sighed, shaking his head as if to a disobedient child.

"Don't call me 'love'? What did you do to me? What did you give me?" Her questions were heated, fists balled up in hate.

Ira Billings laughed to himself, putting strands of red hair from her face. She resisted, turning her face.

He continued to speak, hand still suspended in the air. "Like I said: My costume would freak you out, so I drugged you to make it easier for us to escape. I only drugged you once. You were in and out of conscience most of the time until midnight when you sleep it off. I just helped get you cleaned up. . . . while being a perfect gentleman, of course."

A dizzy spell hit her hard enough to make her sit back down on the futon. Ira caught her in his arms, Angel still tried to fight him off.

"You didn't have to." She snapped, watching his hands the whole time.

"Trust me, sweetie, I did."

"What does _that_ mean? And where am I? Why me? What did you do to the orderlies-?"

She felt a finger press against her lips. Ira tossed her words aside. She managed to push him away though weakly.

"Now, now Angel. Calm yourself. That stuff is still in your system."

Angel wanted to hit him, to gain her control back. But, but . . . her head started swimming again.Whatever drug he gave her was potent. It was like the stuff in her pills. . . . Angel wanted to freak out. She heard her brain tell her mouth to scream, but nothing came out of it. Her muscles wouldn't listen to her fight response.

Angel Proctor shook her head with her hands. She stumbled back on the futon.

Ira rushed to her side, "Heed my warnings, dear, you're not well."

She couldn't even stand to her feet. Fear crept into her eyes._'No, no. It's the sedate! The sedate's messing with your brain, Angel. You're still rationale. You're still rationale. You're still rationale.' _The words kept repeating like a chant in her brain.

It couldn't be the same stuff could it? Using the pills on her?

Angel's world went black over her eyes.

* * *

Once back to, she decided to play his game and see where it could lead her. She ate his blank breakfast to give herself energy. Angel wanted some answers: "Tell me your plan, Ira. Every evil genius who escapes a mental ward has one." 

"Clever one you are, Angel." Ira sat on the floor next the futon she was laying on. His back was resting against the wall. Eyes darkening, he spoke in a dramatic voice.

"I want revenge."

Angel found the urge to laugh, "Very original." She was glad her asked for coffee, it gave her hands something to hold. Something to keep her steady, her mind steady.

"It's not the same, my love." Ira became animated. "I spent over a year pretending to be crazy just to keep from going crazy in that nuthouse. I nursed my anger, my bitterness, my pain! Then you, you lovely creature, came along and showed me my mistakes from where you failed. There we were with the same problems, the same let downs, it was like fate!"

"Having stupid lackeys? Getting too greedy? Not taking smaller amounts?"

Ira dismissed them with a hand, "No, not having a drug powerful enough."

"And we all know how well drugs solve all of our problems." Her sarcasm came back to life.

He continued to ignore her witty remarks, eyes shining. "Think about it, with my technology and yours combined. We can cripple this very city. Give them a drug that makes them love stealing for us while forgetting all detail at the right moment-minus the love element of course. Then trap our victims in an illusion so powerful, they can't even fathom the reality of it being fake."

Angel sat there, both shaky hands on a coffee mug.'_One nut to another. He wants me to work with him.'_

"What makes you think this won't fail?"

"We have each other."

Angel's head snapped suddenly, eyes blazing. "What's with this 'we' business? Why do I need your help? What makes you think _I want you_?"

"Angel." Ira Billings said her name softly. After pulling himself from the floor, he took the mug from her hands to place it on the adjacent lamp table.The criminal took her hands into his softly, sitting by her on the futon. Their legs were touching, he pulled her closer. His stare cut deep into her, bringing more of her fears to the surface.

"You opened up to me back there. We have a connection. Look at us. We failed committing the same crime all because we were underappreciated while we were straight. But now–now we can't fail."

His breathing was tickling the back of her neck, her red hair started standing up. The way he smiled made her question sanity more–his and hers equally.

She kept forcing herself to ask the questions. She had to know her fate. "How do _we_ know this is going to work before we try to make_ our_ fortune?"

Now he laughed loud and long in the apartment. "What better test subject then Pinky."

Angel turned to face him with a laugh of her own. "Good luck on that one, Ira. That girl will be under so much protection once they know we're gone. Remember what I said about her connections–some very rich and powerful people managed to put the lid on the case. No one but us and them even know who she is!"

"We won't have to find her–she'll come to us."

"Oh, and I'm sure that she'll just say yes to dinner if we ask her really, really nicely with a cherry on top." Angel mocked, "I decided to give up on the Pink Hair. I don't care."

"Patience. We just need time. Based on your description and my contacts, we'll lure her to us. You'll see, you'll believe me."

The way he was talking. . . One final question burned in Angel's mind.She demanded this answer in a low tone. She grabbed his hands suddenly, bending them back with as much force as she could muster grabbing his hands, making him stare in her emerald green eyes. She could've broken his hands with all of the anger circulating inside of her.

"You give me one of my own pill, didn't you?"

But her strength failed her. Ira Billings got his hands back, face not once twisting in pain. He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her inmto his lap, pushing her face to his. Angel Proctor tried to fight his embrace but the drugs still left her weak and hazy.

"Your love doesn't need a pill from me."

Angel's protest was muted by his kiss.

* * *

The feeling that someone was following her unnerved her. 

_'I gotta hurry up and get to the shrink.' _Gripping her book bag, Max started walking faster.

For three weeks, the feeling didn't leave. Now it was continuing into the fourth week.

Max couldn't tell Terry. He did exactly as he said: He stopped. For the first three days, she left several apologetic messages on his voice mail but gave up when day four came around. She then threw herself into the latest research project at Gotham Hospital to numb the hurt. She worked extra voluteer hours at the Bio Park twice and got through three trashy novels as mental junk food. She still did karate after research ended in the evenings and saw Dr. Layton again, marking this the third week of her sessions. She wanted to be so busy she didn't have time to think. Max would collapse into her bed nightly happily to exhausted to dream. No nightmares, no subject to hash at the sessions.

After her day in the lab at the hospital, she left for the hour long session then planned to head to the dojo. But, every few blocks though she found herself scanning the area around her in the middle of the busy afternoon streets. It was too packed on the sidewalks for someone to be staring at her, much less follow.

Max still kept her eyes on the surroundings as much as possible. Relaxation was a luxury.

* * *

Spellbinder kept himself masked in the crowd as a passing shadow. 

He managed to locate Pinky weeks using Angel's information, a few bored Jokerz, and his own detective work. Attacking her at home proved too risky, he saw a few extra Gotham PD. cars pass by her complex during the week. Today he got lucky again. He saw her take the B train to the business district. Disguising himself as another student on the Downtown streets, he followed her all the way to Wayne-Powers Industries then waited for three minutes. He stepped on the same elevator as she did. Ira stood in the back as a group of people working through the night stepped on along with two janitors and a mother and child. He saw her step off the fifth floor, walking to the left to a medium-sized set of offices.

"Very good," He said to himself as the elevator went up.

* * *

A tiny voice reached Bruce Wayne's ears as he walked the elevator, weary of the long board meeting he had scheduled. Terry was on the ground level with the car waiting for him. All the 79-yr-old man wanted to do was eat, listen to the scanner and read a good popular junk fiction book like any other elderly person. 

"Can I speak to you for a second?"

The older man turned to his left to find a petite Asian woman standing down the hall, "Dr. Layton?"

"Can you step into my office for a second?"

Bruce stepped into the therapist' office, it looked undisturbed and silence as always when they were no clients. He took a seat in front of her desk. They were the only two there. He took a piece of candy from the dish.

"What can I do for you?"

"Someone broke into my office, Mr. Wayne. It had to happen on my lunch break, I didn't have lunch in here today. I met up with a girlfriend." She answered matter-of-factly.

"I find that hard to believe with the level of security-" Smuggles in the glass table peaked Bruce Wayne's interest. "But then you're a therapist, nothing is hard to believe."

"I only regret they took some of my session tapes. Not money, not the fine china or electronics." Dr. Layton sighed.

Wayne's eyebrow raised. "Whose notes did they steal–if you can share that information?"

Dr. Layton lowered her voice, obvious of the cameras. "I can only say that some of the tapes belonging to the 'patients' you recommended went missing. No one else's tapes. Those are the only things missing. Wednesday marked three weeks worth of sessions with this person."

Bruce soon had a name in place in his head. They continued to discuss the break in hushed tones."Any idea who would want the tapes?"

"My guess is as good as yours."

"So–we have nothing."

"Well," She reached into her pocket, producing a strip of fabric. "I found it hooked to the desk, I think they got hindered by the door but didn't want the break in to be so obvious."

A piece of red and black cloth laid across the palm of the doctor's palm. The older man's eyes lit up with a detective's flare.

"May I have take this?"

The Asian woman shrugged, "Sure, it's not like I need it or anything.."

She watched Mr. Wayne examine and re-examine the cloth until he was satisfied.

"I'll try to find the owner of this. In the meantime, I'll have a better security system setup in place to protect you and your clients."

* * *

That Friday, the autumn breezes picked up more, blowing her pink locks around.

And her danger sense.

Leaving the karate class this late in the evening forced Max to be on her guard. She clutched her back tightly, ready to practice her moves on the next passerby. She kept walking. . . Three blocks down away from Japanese Square the feeling washed over her again.

She reached for anything that could be a weapon–no one was going to run her off. The katana diguised as an umbella would do nicely. (For practicing so hard, the sensei gave her the sword as a gift that day.) They were practiced with weapons today in a new lesson. Maxine forced herself to look normal, she knw she was drawing stares.

When Japanese Square ended and Old Town began, she stood at the empty corner studying her surroundings. The denizens of the Square were starting to turn in while Old Town stood menacing and mute.

She held the katana to her side.

Watching.

Waiting.

For a full ten minutes, Max was silent but ready.

* * *

Something moved in an alley way.

Ready to fight, she stood taunt.

The somthing-a figure it seemed, seemed to brush by her again.

Panic rose in her. Flight-or-fight kicked in.

_I'm seeing things_, she thought, _I'm going crazy here_.

The figure came out for a moment to smile at her.

Max darted off into Old Town, chasing the figure.


	9. The Games We Play

Max came to, eyes fighting to focus on the dizzy world around her.

"My head." She groaned, holding the back of her aching skull. Opening her eyes revealed a lot more than she desired. . . it looked like her dream, the dream she had about the garden.

Max forced herself to sit up.

_'It's just an illusion, it's just an illusion. It's not real.'_ The colors, the landscape, the smells. Her senses were being fooled constantly. . .who could know about that expect the therapist?

_'I'm dreaming, see Maxine Gibson. . . . this is just the dream again.'_

But when she stubbed one of her toes on the concrete fountain, suddenly she knew she wasn't going to wake up and fall out of bed. Her heart sunk. Something was very wrong.

Max started walking, clutching the dress to herself, asking herself where the heck was she going in a place that was only real in her imagination.

* * *

"I think you should be going to Old Town." Bruce Wayne suddenly said aloud to his protege when a flashing red dot caught his eye on the computer.

"Old Town?" The younger Bat came toward Wayne faithfully planted at the supercomputer, preparing for his night's work. "Whose giving me job security now?"

"Maxine."

Terry's eyes flashed behind the cowl for a second, thankful no one could his the expression on his face. "What do you mean?" He asked Wayne.

"The tracer in her wristwatch places her near the Heartz Factory and the boondocks-"

"A tracer in her watch? She has one?" Terry interrupted briefly.

"She does now." Bruce calmly answered.

"How did you get a tracer in her watch?" Terry raised an eyebrow.

"Easy. When she took it off."

Terry wanted to inquire more but he knew Bruce had mysterious ways. Terry soon left the cave.

* * *

Angel wasn't herself an she knew it.

When the glass fell from her hand early that Friday morning, it was confirmed.

Ira Billings' voice floated above her head earlier that day as he sat in a chair as if he were interviewing her like a patient.

_"Rest easy, my love. Your time awaits."_

She collapsed to the floor when Ira walked into the room. . . . waking up, she found herself somewhere new. The words on the walls read MIMI'S DOLLS.

Angel fought to get to her feet yet her legs gave away again, she couldn't move. She started screaming her captor's name, pulling herself across the floor in her now dusty kimono.

"Ira! Ira, what have you done to me!?"

No one but the dark and the dust answered her in the abandoned doll factory.

"IRA!"

A light flashed in the room sending Angel back into the farthest corners of her already twisting mind.

* * *

When Max came around a corner, she stepped onto a set of the grounds trimmed into a large chess board except this area was very open. The landscape matched the black and alternating red colors to fit the chess motif. Even the grass alternated with the high unusual colors. Large statues carved into chess pieces stood on opposite sides of the field, black and red pieces.

Max had toyed with chess for a year and then realized that something was missing–the two queens.

The black queen and, in this case, the red queen.

* * *

"You'll be checkmated soon enough." A feminine voice called behind her when a long lance slammed into the ground next to her.

Max jumped out of the way, turning around when finding herself safe.

Her eyes grew big at the sight before her.

Angel Proctor dressed as the towering red queen.

* * *

"I won't run from you." Maxine suddenly yelled.

"Good, then I won't have to worry about you disappearing."

Her katana seemed to appear out of nowhere on the chess board._ 'This is a setup!'_

Max lunged for it as Angel Proctor aimed at her again.

The two women were squaring off on the chess board, fighting with a fierceness of old rivals.

While Angel proved to be more apt at her skill with the lance, Max was no opponent to be taken lightly.

"Why me?" Max growled on the defensive, the blade gleaming with unspoken power.

"Why not!" The former psychologist took another swing at the student, missing her again.

"So you're quick." Angel sneered, turning around to find her opponent.

Max circled her, waiting for another swing, "I took a few lessons from the last time you tried to kill me."

Angel took a breath, "And this time, there is no try!" A fourth swing meant for Max hit air.

"I thought the nuthouse was doing you some good but I guess I was wrong."Maxine teased, dancing around her, katana poised.

"You guessed wrong about many things, Pinky."

Angel's swing was blocked by the katana's blade.

"Come on, little girl, take this beating!" She growled at Maxine, putting all of her weight into the lance. Max used all of hers to hold the lance off with the katana. "You might as well, your little batty cant save you."

A savage cry tore from the darker woman's mouth, "I'm don't need him!"

They broke apart. The battle continued for what felt like hours. The sound of slashing and clanging was heard, neither woman making a connection to her opponent's physician body with a blow. Max suddenly tried to cut the in lance in half, but the blade was locked in a stalemate with the lance.

"Give up!" The Red Queen/Angel screamed as the girl strained back.

"Yeah right!" Max pushed back, Angel stumbled back into one of the figures.

Angel shook herself then with a new strength, vessels appeared under her arms. The blood was pumping through her veins as fast as the drugs were. Max didn't shield herself, she waited to deliver a blow finally, to end this charade.

But when Angel charged at her, the older woman collapsed next to her breathing heavily.


	10. Just Your Type

_Chapter X: _Just Your Type

"Nothing's here."

The young Bat stalked around the warehouse, shelves full of nondescript boxes with MIMI'S DOLLS written on the front. The machines slept quietly. Pieces of dolls ready to be put together laid scattered across the floor. The layers of dust on the ancient Dell computers gave him the impression that there hadn't been a sign of life in the building since him.

Batman continued to move.

Scanning the factory, he picked up body heat in the back of the factory. He followed. . . .

_She had to be here_, he thought, _I know she's here._

The tracker took him closer and closer to the heat sources. . . .

Something of interest caught his eye. A room labeled PROTOTYPE stood with its door ajar.

Lights danced in the crack. Faint noises could be heard.

"Anything?" Bruce's transmission reached his ears.

"Me and the rats." Batman commented, watching a rodent as large as a cat ran by his foot.

A thud caught his attention.

"I heard something."

"Approach with caution. My scan of the room suddenly went haywire."

The Bat approached the door then kicked it open. He found a vast white room staring at him with various doll prototypes inside . . . and what appeared to be two bodies on the floor.

The door slammed behind him, locking from the outside as if automatic.

The lights went out.

"What the-?" The Bat spun around then found himself thrown across the room by an invisible force.

Gasping for precious air, his sight went hazy. He was pinned against the wall on the other side of the room.

So he wasn't alone.

Batman struggled for air, hands clawing at his throat.

A spotlight shined directly on him.

'_Don't lose it, Bat! Stay cool_!'

"Batman, you don't look so calm." A voice crept through the room.

"Let . . . me . . . go." He struggled to say, the pressure closing in on him, weighing him down.

"I will my friend," A figure donned in all white stepped out of the wall as if it was apart of it.

He held up a glowing light in his hand, suddenly a woman's scream cut through the dimness.

"Just as soon as I'm done with you. Stay, and watch my little demonstration."

* * *

Maxine flinched when she heard the screams of Angel Proctor.

Weapons forgotten, Max backed away from the older woman wailing like a banshee.

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Angel swung the lancet wildly, "I'll get rid of you, even if I had to take myself too!"

Angel slammed the lancet into a towering Rook.

"What did you do with me, Ira? What did you do?!"

The Rook cracked into pieces, the former lover doctor stumbled around disoriented.

A figure walked started walking toward them.

First it appeared in a red and black cloth body suit, then the figure appeared as a king in traditional dress. The figure walked toward Angel Proctor. Restaining her with one hand, Ira touched her face softly with the other.

"Do? I'm simply testing something love."

"So you drug me again!" Angel tried to swing at him, anger showing in her face as red as her hair.

But as she was a stuffed animal, Ira Billing grabbed the wrist the lance was in and forced her to stop swinging. A cry escaped from the fair woman. Ira then kissed Angel Proctor deeply, pinning Angel's hands behind her back. . . . Her body tensed again then the muscles relaxed suddenly.

Angel fell backward to the checked floor.

Still.

Maxine was too shock to move.

Ira Billing suddenly change back the Spellbinder then faced Max.

"Don't worry. She's only sleeping."

"What did you do to her?" Max started feeling for her katana.

"What I plan on doing to others . . . controlling them." Spellbinder answered, calmly walking toward her.

"A little bit of my angel's pink pills and a little of my technology makes a very powerful concoction."

Max snatched her weapon, standing on her feet. "Don't you come near me."

Spellbinder laughed, "My dear Pinky, you got me once. But this time I won't let you foil me again."

Max backed away from Spellbinder until she felt her back touch a towering Bishop.

The katana was poised.

* * *

Batman took the minute Spellbinder's attention (and mental hold in his airway) were on Max to break free.

Jetting off, he aimmed for the turned back of Spellbinder.

* * *

_'Terry.'_

The name flashed across her mind when she saw the blur of black aimming for the nutcase.

Spellbinder turned around and held a hand up.

The two collided. Spellbinder hit the Black King, falling to the ground.

"Let's move!" He said running toward Maxine when a large hand slapped him out of the way. One of the towering wooden Knights had knocked Batman down.

"Batman!" She dropped the katana, running toward him. The Bat wasn't moving.

A towering arm grabbed her leg, taking the black woman down. Max struggled, kicking at the Pawn.

The younger Bat grabbed his side, "I'm going to feel that one in the morning."

Coming back to himself, Batman growled low then went after Spellbinder again. Spellbinder then vanished as his foe jumped at him. The younger Bat hit the ground. Batman pulled himself to his feet.

"Get back here and fight me like a man!" The Bat yelled at Spellbinder. . . and lost sight of him . . .

When the Bat turned around, he saw Spellbinder yanking Max by her hair.

"Let her go, Billing." The Bat's blood simmered low in his veins, running toward them. Yet he was forced to a halt when the moving chess pieces started surrounding him.

Spellbinder laughed loud in victory, "Isn't it funny how the hero always says that when the cold-hearted criminal has the girl?" A needle appeared from his covered hand, taunting the black woman. "I promise the pills are less evasive."

"What do you want?" Max demanded, watching a clear drop of menacing fluid appeared in the tip.

Spellbinder suddenly forced her to look him directly in the face: "Control."

The darker woman began struggling. Batman tried to think of a way to move but he was trapped. The Bat cursed himself. He was going to fail to a loon in a costume. Something bad was going to happen to Maxine and he would die by being crushed to death by pieces on a board game.

Spellbinder continued to talk, "I going to do to you what I did to my fair angel. She just needed persuading to demonstrate my plans. Why not have crime commit itself? Why not have the victim be the perpetrator also? With the pills I'm creating now, the crime in this city will be start and end in the same place. The good citizens will rob themselves and bring it all the loot to me, their king. I have control over a game that no one can refuse me. I created the grandest of illustrations."

"You used her?" Max suddenly gasped for air. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if she should be so calm at the point of death, worried about the woman who wanted to kill her first.

A lewd smile crossed his face, "For now, she's still a toy I play with."

Spellbinder grabbed her by the neck, lifting the needle.

"But you–you are annoyance."

* * *

Terry felt the rush of adrenalin as he broke from the tight hold the towering chess pieces.

His queen was about to be checkmated.

* * *

Spellbinder did not expect Batman's fist to connect with his jaw.

Max fell out of Spellbinder's holder. The needle slid across the floor toward the body of Angel Proctor.

"Run!" Batman screamed at Max, struggling with Spellbinder. Each man tried knocking the other to the floor. Max tried to pull herself in a running position but her legs gave away. She hit the ground, eyes hazy.

Batman felt his eyes grow wide when he saw Max go down.

Spellbinder laughed, "Saving the fair damsel just didn't work out for you ne?"

A sudden force arrested them both, a lance knocked both men to the ground. Skaking himself and getting back up, Batman jetted toward the walking madwoman Angel Proctor but was knocked into another towering Pawn.

Her lance connected with Spellbinder's backside. Ira groaned in pain along with Batman behind him.

Above the former psychologist loom a woman with red hair and blazing eyes.

"My-my angel-" Ira Billing's shock was concealed by his red and black mask.

Angel lifted the lance above her head, "Don't ever mess with my head again."

* * *

When the needle made contact with Angel's arm, Max didn't expect her aim to be so good in her hazy state.

* * *

The younger Bat ran to the darker woman's side.

"Max! Maxine!"

He heard a groan escape from her lips. Batman gathered Max in his arms.

"Terry." She whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Shhh."

Terry whispered to her then covered her mouth with his.

The warehouse faded back to its natural state after the magic eye fell from Ira's hand and shattered.

The grand illusion ended.


	11. Considering

_Chapter XI: Considering _

When the camera in the batsuit began working properly again, the only thing Bruce Wayne saw was the dusty old doll warehouse in Old Town. . . .Until something of interest caught his eye and his camera angle.

The former Batman leaned back in his chair.

"Hitting the nail on the head again, huh Bruce?"

Ace looked up at his master then felt Bruce scratching behind his ears, watching the scene unfold between the two lovers.

* * *

"Whatever was in that needle was enough to stun her, but there weren't any major damages to her physically or to her mental capacities."

"So she's not showing any symptoms of the drug, doctor?"

"Well, drowsiness is the only definite thing I can see."

"But that doesn't mean something long term isn't occurring. It'll still take a few days, maybe even a week, for the drug to get out of her symptom. She still needs to detox. Just make sure she follows orders."

"Drink plenty of juices. Take the meds you gave her. Rest. I think I got it."

"She sounds like she's in good hands." The physician smiled at Terry McGinnis then left the hallway.

"I hope."

"Hope is a muscle–exercise it more, McGinnis."

Bruce Wayne appeared in the hallway. Even in his age with a bad leg, the old man still seemed to have his inhuman agility. The younger Bat's hand rested on the doorknob.

"The doctor says she'll be okay, she just needs to rest a few days."

"I see. Though getting her to rest may be a bigger fight."

"What was in that needle exactly?" Terry asked in a low tone when they noticed that a nurse was making rounds in a room down the hall.

"How Spellbinder hoped to create a new crime wave. His mind control device combined with a liquid form of Angel Proctor's drug made a powerful way to control people mentally. Sans the love element."

"100 pure mind control. No filler. Great for criminals."

"The Love Doctor's actions kills our therapy about them as lovers. She wanted to kill him."

"He used it in on Angel Proctor. The report on her says she was doped on Ira's concoction."

"And again I ask–why Max?"

"Guinea pig."

"Guinea pig? No revenge? No vengeance?"

"I would guess Angel Proctor was too concern about herself to think about getting back at Maxine. I think Ira Billing figured out that Pinky was Maxine and started following her."

Then Bruce Wayne mumbled to himself. "Hence the missing file."

"What's up?" The younger Bat's head snapped from his daze.

"Have you been in to see her?" The older Bat asked Terry.

"Not yet, I was going to go in until I saw you."

"Hmm."

A ring interrupted them, "Go on. I need to talk this."

Terry left Bruce Wayne outside to take his urgent phone call.

The younger man walked into the room to find themselves staring at an empty bed.

"What the-?" Terry's face covered itself in shock when the door shut behind them.

He spun around, ready in a fighting stance when the curtains started flapping wildly in the wind.

"Hi." A pink-haired woman in hospital garb stood there, arms folded.

"Max!" Terry walked to her, "What in the heck are you doing out of bed?"

She brushed pass him, "Proving to you that I can hold my own. Just like I did in the warehouse."

The young man growled, "Stubborn. That's what you are–plain stubborn."

Tossing the words over her shoulder, Max answered. "You won't let me be Batgirl, I have to do something. Unless Mr. Wayne, the greatest boss in the world, changes his mind."

"You endanger yourself in Old Town because you couldn't just let me or the cops handle Billing. You need to stop trying to be a superhero. You think my job is easy. Stop trying to prove a point here."

She had just managed to make it on shaky legs back to the edge of the bed when his words stuck her.

"At least you're respected. I'm not. The world doesn't look at you as an annoyance."

Terry cross the room, grabbing her by the wrist. His annoyance was showing, nostrils flared.

"Max, annoyance or not, I was worried about you. Don't you think I care about you?"

Before she could answer, her legs gave out again. All her energy went into standing up for so long behind the door. She grabbed onto Terry's shirt. Automatically, Terry steadied her by the waist, keeping her from falling into a heap of hospital clothing on the cool tiles. She latched onto him, arms tight around his neck.

"So you do care."

She whispered suddenly, her lips near his ears. It was as if a revelation danced in her ears.

"Yes! Don't you think I love you?"

His answer came out of his anger, his pain, his heart.

The admission prompted Max to search into his eyes, there she was being tossed in the strange sea again.

"Terry, do you really feel that way? Because if you don't, I can't go on feeling the same."

"The same? The same about what?" He demanded.

"About you."

If Terry wasn't the one holding Maxine Gibson up, he would have fainted.

Strange questions probed his heart.

* * *

Bruce Wayne cleared his throat loud enough so that the two looked up at him, again placing at least a few inches of space between them. The older man hobbled into the room halfway.

"Am I'm interrupting?"

"No. . . " Terry helped Max sit back on the bed, his stare avoiding hers.

"I was just helping her back to bed."

"Sorry, Mr. Wayne, you can't a girl like me down." Max smiled, the storm behind her eyes passing.

Bruce Wayne took a chair by the bed, words directed to Max.

"I think you need you rest. And by rest, I mean actually laying down with your eyes closed."

"Fine." She held her hands up in a surrender gesture. "I'm sleeping, I'm sleeping already."

Wayne chatted with Maxine for a few more minutes, communicating some well meaning advice about her recover. ("I can always have the nurses strap you down if you don't sleep willing. And don't try hacking.

I have the computers here tapped too.")

When the two men stepped out of the room for a moment, Bruce gave his protege a calculating look.

"She's be fine considering."

"Her pig-headedness?"

Wayne fought a smirk when his mood turned serious.

"And have you considered what you've been. . . . considering?"

"Considering? What am I considering?"

The older man's eyes narrowed.

"Wait–are we talking in code again?" Terry shrugged, confused. "What are you saying?"

Bruce Wayne placed a hand on Terry's shoulder, looking eye to eye with Terry McGinnis.

"A bit of advice, Terry: Don't be alone."

"Okay. . . " The younger man answered

"I think the risk you wanted to take is sitting on the other side of that door. Give her a chance."

Bruce removed his hand and leaned on his cane.

"Oh, and take the day for yourself. If it's urgent, I'll call."

Terry just looked at Bruce Wayne hobble to the elevator.

Now he was wondering if he should take the move Wayne proposed or just stand there with his mouth agaped.


End file.
